Zahnfee
by Anendda Rysden
Summary: Miche had been suffering with a bum tooth for over a week, obstinately refusing to seek treatment, so Eren Jaeger presents him with an ultimatum, delivered with all of his usual eloquence: "I'm getting real tired of watching you nibble on crap. Get it taken care of, or I'll bend you over this table and take a look myself."


_The following ficlet was the combined result of having a problematic wisdom tooth removed and needing to get some AoT feels off my chest. It's actually a fragment of a much larger story I've plotted out, but I think it works pretty well as a standalone one-shot. I've decided to post it as such, because let's be real here: the odyssey it's attached to is 98% unwritten and will never see the light of day. I can barely manage to put out new chapters for the fandoms I already have stories for!_

_A word of caution, however: this story takes place in Season 1, but alludes to some pretty big reveals in Season 3. It's more of a vague insinuation than an actual spoiler, and certainly no more obvious than any of the other Chekhov's Guns the anime delights in scattering about like sadomasochistic turds in tall grass, but if you haven't progressed at least as far as Season 3, Episode 11 "Bystander" - with your safest option being Episode 22 "The Other Side of the Wall" - then consider yourself forewarned._

_Also, please be aware that this story contains potential triggers such as hypodermic needles, dental procedures, and all the body horror that comes with the territory._

* * *

Miche ladled up some of his soup, sipped, and winced. The reaction was a subtle one, a quick tightening of the skin at the corners of his eyes, and easily overlooked – or it would have been, if Eren Jaeger hadn't been watching the older man like a hawk. His mouth thinned into a scowl. Miche nudged his soup aside and picked up a hunk of bread instead, shredding it with his fingers and cautiously nibbling the pieces on one side of his mouth.

Eren lowered his spoon. "So," he began sourly. "You planning on getting that looked at anytime soon?"

Several people lifted their heads to look at him, unsure who he was talking to. They needn't have bothered. The sulfurous green glare he was slanting Miche made it very clear, very quickly. The veteran Scout gave him a confused look in return.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what, so don't even try to get cute," Eren responded. He jabbed his spoon in Miche's direction. "Your mouth is clearly bothering you, so why haven't you seen the doctor? I'm getting real tired of watching you nibble on crap."

Judging by the startled look on his face, Miche clearly didn't know how to respond. Levi reached over for another loaf of bread. He'd never seen anything quite like Jaeger's utter refusal to be cowed or intimated by the brass, talking shit to Miche – a man three times his age and four times his rank – as though they were kids pissing on each other in the academy.

_Must be the perks of being the second child, _Levi mused, thinking of all the times Erwin had lectured him for the same behavior. He wasn't put out by it, though. Living vicariously through Jaeger was just as good, if not better. Petra leaned across the table, her pretty face twisting with worry.

"Miche, is that still bothering you? You _said_ you were going to Trost."

She glared at him and Levi suppressed the rare urge to smirk. Nothing like flicking kerosene on the flame. He buttered his bread in silence, watching as Miche's expression went from surprised to flat-out annoyed, maybe even a little angry.

"It's just a little toothache. It's not that bad," the older man scowled.

"Bad enough for you to flinch every time you put something in your mouth," said Eren ruthlessly.

Miche narrowed his eyes at him, which had absolutely no effect. Eren just stared back with a look of intensity the Commander himself would have been proud of. "It's still early," he said, gesturing to where the evening sky was only just beginning to darken. "If you saddle a horse right now, you could probably make it to Trost before everybody closes down for the night."

"I'll go with you!" Petra volunteered, getting to her feet.

Levi had no particular point of reference, as he'd never been _afraid_ of anyone in his life, let alone those in present company, but Jaeger really ought to have been intimidated by the heated glare Miche was throwing his way. As it stood, the kid just looked annoyed. Like water off a duck's ass.

"Now," Eren elaborated. "Or I'll bend you over this table and take a look myself."

Levi stifled a snort.

"I'll take it under advisement, _Cadet_," said Miche coldly.

He and Eren glared at each other a while longer, then – having forced a draw – Miche grumpily went back to the conversation he'd been having with Eld, and Petra sat back down with a pout. To Levi's surprise, Eren said nothing more. He sipped quietly at his soup, banking the fire in his eyes.

The evening wore on, and the sky outside faded to the color of a bruised plum. As always, the mess hall was slow to empty, with most members of the Survey Corps choosing to gather around the availability of coffee – and possibly their fellows Scouts. Being of a decidedly antisocial nature, Levi couldn't give his opinion on the latter, and much preferred tea over the former. Of course, there was plenty of that on hand too, so the reason he lingered well after dinner was inevitably up to debate. He'd observed Eren getting up from the table some moments previous, but given that his two guard dogs hadn't leapt to their paws to follow him, Levi concluded the kid must've slipped away to take a piss.

Someone down the table farted loudly and Levi craned back in his chair, eyes flashing with a razor's edge. The laughter snorted to a stop almost immediately. Honestly, he'd been raised in a gutter – a literal gutter – and even _he_ had better table manners. Satisfied that the anonymous degenerate had been put in their place, Levi selected a biscotti from the nearby platter. Not so much for the taste, as he was pretty sure they could easily take the place of musket balls should the garrison run short of lead, but rather for something to occupy his mouth, as it spared him from actually having to answer the idiotic questions Hange was lobbing in his direction.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jaeger making his way back across the mess, a leather duffle in one hand. It looked oddly familiar, but before Levi could figure out what that meant, Jaeger had crossed the room and set the bag down with a heavy _thump_.

"Alright," he said bluntly. "Lie back and open your mouth."

Levi's eyes glittered with amusement. He had to hand it to the kid; not many people had the balls to follow through on their faux threat, especially not to a superior officer with the power to toss him ass-over-ankles into the clink. Levi dipped the biscotti into his tea. Hell, he might even intervene if it came to that. Jaeger deserved some kind of reward for the night's entertainment.

"You've got to be joking, kid," Miche observed peevishly.

"Unfortunately I am not, Mr. Zacharias," said Eren calmly, and Levi almost choked on his biscotti as Eren stacked everyone's plates and cups to the side, then began removing a series of glass bottles from the duffle, one between each of his fingers.

_Mr._ Zacharias? God in Heaven, it just kept getting better and better.

"Eren what are you doing?" Armin whispered, and was summarily ignored.

"I gave you ample chance to take my advice this evening," Eren continued mildly. "You chose not to – and not for the first time, I might add. Your comrades have expressed their concerns for you multiple times in the last week."

"I-"

Caught off guard, mostly by the delivery than the actual accusation, Miche could only stare. Levi cocked an eyebrow in Jaeger's direction. There was no anger in his tone. His voice was calm and professionally impartial, rich with an indeterminate accent Levi couldn't remember the kid having.

"I told you, I'm fine!" Miche protested, recovering himself.

"I very much doubt that," said Eren. "The side of your face is swollen and you are clearly in a great deal of pain. You've touched only the bare minimum of food this evening, as you have for the last four nights. I refrained from saying anything out of respect, but the time for that has passed. Now we're going to do things my way before you actually take ill."

He shrugged out of his jacket, the movement fluid and easy, and laid it on the table. Miche's face had gone red with embarrassment. He went to touch his cheek, probably to measure if it was actually swollen, then jerked his hand away, curling it into an angry fist. He opened his mouth to say something, but Petra beat him to it.

"What do you mean by _take ill_?" she demanded. "Miche, are you sick?"

"No, I'm not sick!"

"Not yet," Eren interrupted calmly. He began rolling up his sleeves, lean muscles rippling in his forearms.

"I have no way to know what kind of harm has been done," he continued, "but it will only get worse – and now it is too late to seek treatment elsewhere in Trost. Even if you left this very moment, every practice will be closed by the time you arrived. You think you know pain, Mr. Zacharias? I assure you, let this problem progress, and what you're feeling now will only be a mild discomfort compared to the hours you'll spend curled up in your bunk and wishing for death. And at that point, death might very well come to you."

Miche had gone pale, cheeks and nose flaming against his curdled, milky skin. Levi set his teacup down. He leveled a frightening glare at Miche and then at Eren, marginally aware that the Commander had ceased his conversation and was looking in their direction, alert to the scent of danger.

"That true?" Levi asked in a low voice. He wanted to think the kid was just exaggerating, taking his attempt to bully Miche right to the umpteenth level – but something in Jaeger's tone, in his calm recital of what he obviously believed to be fact, had put a lump in his gut that had nothing to do with the stale biscotti.

Eren met his gaze and nodded. There was no satisfaction in it. "If the infection is severe enough… if it reaches his blood… then yes, he could die. And it will neither be quick nor pleasant."

Levi's face contorted into a black scowl. Miche had certainly looked wrung out these past few days, but-

"Miche, I swear to God – get your ass up right now, or do I have to throw you on a horse myself?" Levi demanded, facing the older man. Miche winced, but held his ground with steely-eyed determination.

"It's too late for that anyway," said Eren. He reached back inside the duffle, pulling out a phial of vermilion-colored liquid and a thin case roughly the length of his forearm. "As I said, every practice in Trost will be closed for the night."

"Oh, I think we can arrange an exception," said Levi dangerously.

"You are _not_ sending the Commander!" Miche burst out, the hot flush of embarrassment coloring his ears and the back of his neck. He looked like a corpse that was somehow also running a fever. "For fuck's sake, it isn't even that bad!"

"Then why don't you let Eren have a look?" Petra asked in her best reasonable voice.

"And just what the hell is Jaeger gonna do?"

Levi wanted to know the same thing. He looked back at Eren and found that the kid had turned his back to them. Liquid sloshed. Metal rattled. Eren turned and set the bottle aside, concealing his right hand behind his hip.

"I can do quite a bit," he said quietly. "Now please. Lie down, or lean back."

He took a slow step forward; not menacing, but foreboding all the same. Miche's eyes cut to whatever Eren was hiding from view, then at the case sitting empty on the table. There was a form-fitted cavity in the center of it, indicating where something fragile was meant to be stored. Miche's face lost all color. He leapt up so fast his knee collided with the underside of the table, rattling the cups and plates. Erwin quickly got to his feet.

"Look, this is ridiculous!" Miche rasped, putting one hand out as if to ward something back. A bead of sweat rolled his graying temple. "I'll go into town Monday, I promise!"

Eren's green eyes narrowed.

After a moment, the gleam of understanding scintillated through their depths.

"Are you afraid of needles, Mr. Zacharias?" he asked gently.

Miche blanched. "No, I'm not afraid of needles," he said quickly.

Much too quickly.

Eren waited a beat, then purposely withdrew what he'd been holding behind his back. Firelight glinted on the glass barrel of a syringe, throwing iridescent flickers onto his knuckles. The needle itself was longer than the span of a hand and weeping a single drop of liquid. Miche recoiled as though he'd been stabbed, his face whitening to the point of being nearly translucent. Levi shot him a disbelieving look. The man faced down Titans and the gelatinous corpses they vomited up, and he was freaking out over a goddamn syringe?

"Is _that_ was you've been avoiding the doctor?" Eren asked, not unkindly. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. It's a perfectly common fear. Here-" he gently set the syringe down on the table and flicked a square of linen over it.

Miche swallowed, his mouth working soundlessly. Eren worked his way down the table with both hands held out to the side to show that they were empty. To Levi, he suddenly seemed much taller, confident with the weight of years. He had no idea why this notion came to him, only that it did.

"But I still insist that you allow me perform an examination," said Eren. "It's for your own good. Have you fought the Titans and survived, only to be laid low by something so mundane?" He took another step closer.

Miche made a sudden, jerky lunge away from the table and Eren surged after him, one hand snapping forward to strike Miche in the face. The older man rocked back on his heels, visibly stunned. Before he could recover, Eren slipped behind him with frightening speed and dealt a swift kick to the back of his knee. Miche's leg folded, dropping him to half his original height, and Eren's arm instantly snaked around his throat, chin in the crook of his elbow. Miche's eyes bugged. He struggled to get his boots back under him.

"No. No, stop it," Eren scolded, as though he were restraining an unruly toddler.

He leaned back until Miche's knees momentarily left the floor, tightening his grip even as the man's full weight dropped into the clamp around his neck. Miche made a soft choking noise, hands reaching back to paw in Eren's direction. Two seconds later, they swung uselessly to his sides.

Eren held him for another heartbeat, then loosened his grip and slung Miche's dead weight onto the nearby bench, where he calmly began arranging the man to lie flat on his back. Half out of his seat, Levi had no idea what to do. He struggled for something to say that encapsulated the exact level of confusion he was feeling.

"What the _fuck_, Jaeger?!"

"Apologies," said Eren, "but he wasn't going to cooperate otherwise."

He reached across the table and picked up the syringe.

Levi felt his stomach drop. "Are you- _shit_, are you serious?" he demanded.

He mouth opened and closed several times, searching for something to else say. What qualifications did Eren have to be sticking needles in people's mouths?! He'd thought the kid was just bullshitting! Actually going through with it was another matter entirely. _Surely he has something of an idea, otherwise he wouldn't be insane enough to make a game of it... right? _

He didn't know which possibility was crazier.

Eren gently gripped Miche's chin and pried his mouth open, tilting his head back against the bench. With his other hand, he held the syringe up to the light and squeezed a thin trickle of fluid from the needle, his gaze fixed deep inside the barrel. The Commander loomed up behind his shoulder.

"Hold!" he ordered. "Eren, explain what's going on here."

His voice was calm, but his tone held no room for argument.

"Sir, it's not Eren's fault! Miche is being an idiot!" Petra cried. "He's got a bad tooth and it's been hurting for weeks, and he's been refusing to go and have it looked at because _apparently_ he's afraid of needles! Now it's bad and he might die, so Eren was just-"

Erwin held up a hand. He looked unnerved at the mention of anyone dying, though he was doing his damnedest not to let it show on his face. "Alright, Petra. Slow down," he interrupted softly. His eyes raked the scene before him, weighing each of them in turn, before finally settling on Eren. Levi had to admit, it made for one hell of a picture.

"Eren?" the Commander prompted. "Is that the truth of the matter?"

Eren moved the syringe away from Miche but did not put it down.

"Insofar as I am aware, Commander," he answered. "He hasn't eaten a proper meal in nearly a week. His strength is starting to flag, and I fear the tooth itself may have become infected. I apologize for interrupting the evening, but it must be dealt with."

Erwin blinked, and even Levi felt the unnatural urge to straighten his back. Eren wasn't addressing them like a cadet, or even as a friend. He was speaking to Erwin as though they were equals, as though he was extending the professional courtesy of respect – something rare enough in and of itself. Outside the Survey Corps, the Commander was rarely on the receiving end of anything except the butt of the unkind jokes.

Erwin's lips fell apart, then pressed back together, the cogs in his brilliant mind whirring. For the first time in a long time, he gave the impression of a man who'd just been kicked into the deep end of a lake and didn't feel sandy gravel beneath his feet. He looked at Miche, sprawled unconscious with one hand dragging on the worn floor.

A small crowd had gathered around the table; Eld, Petra, Oluo, and Hange – who was wearing an alarming look of interest. Armin and Mikasa had also risen from their seats and stood close together at the foot of the bench.

Erwin's gaze moved towards the syringe. "Do you… I'm sorry, but do you have any idea what you're doing?" He asked it plainly, with no insult either obvious or implied.

Eren nodded once and it seemed to Armin, who was standing at just the right angle to peer into the shadows of the Eren's face, that his eyes had taken on their own strange luminescence.

"I have been well-trained, and possess all the necessary skills," Eren reassured them, in a tone that struck Armin as vaguely familiar. The smaller boy gawked. Mikasa buried her nose into her scarf.

"But he is your man, Commander, and his wellbeing is ultimately your responsibility, so I offer you a choice. Take him to Trost this instant, and hammer on the door of whatever physician your rank allows you to intimidate, or let me perform the procedure right here."

As he spoke, Eren laid a hand on Miche's forehead, fingers resting lightly against his scalp. "However, I must ask that you make the decision quickly," he added, more urgently. "He will not remain unconscious for much longer."

The silence that dropped over the room was deafening, lamps sputtering faintly in the gloom. Night had fallen in earnest and darkness pressed against the old, bubbled windows. There would be no moonrise tonight, and Levi suddenly felt cold. He did not envy the burden Jaeger's strange ultimatum had suddenly placed on Erwin, and could not contain his surprise when the Commander took an obvious step back and folded his arms across his chest.

Eren wasted no time. He inserted a finger into Miche's mouth, pulled his cheek away, and thrust the syringe into the resulting pocket, angled sharply up. Levi's stomach curled. He wasn't scared of needles, but _hell_– he sure as fuck didn't like them, either.

"And the other side," said Eren quietly, almost to himself.

His withdrew the half-empty syringe and reinserted it on the other side of Miche's jaw, draining the remainder of the liquid somewhere in the vicinity of his molars. Levi didn't even think to pretend he'd just squirted it up there, either. The needle had definitely _sunk_ a good quarter inch. Moving quickly, Eren set the syringe on the table and twisted the nearby lamp to full burn, bringing it nearly to the edge of the table.

Clamping Miche's chin in his palm, skin rasping against five days' worth of stubble, Eren opened his jaw and bent close to look inside the older man's mouth. After a moment, he pulled Miche's cheek away from his teeth and examined that side, too. The Survey Corps waited in nervous silence.

"Well, I would ask which one was causing the problem, but there's no need," said Eren, his expression soft with pity. He closed Miche's jaw and brushed his shaggy, dust-colored hair away from his eyes. "You poor man."

That last part had been barely audible, but Levi tried to pretend it didn't feel like getting kicked in the balls. Erwin's fingers knotted into the folds of his sleeve, his jaw clenched. Eren swiftly rose to his full height.

"Mikasa, hon," he called softly, and the young woman jumped as though a mouse had just sunk its teeth into her ankle. "Fold something for his neck and sit on the bench behind his head. I'll need your help to open his mouth. Can you do that for me?"

"Y-yes, sir."

Mikasa leapt forward without hesitation, sweeping her jacket off her shoulders and bunching it into a rough cylinder that she placed behind Miche's neck. Half a second later, she was straddling the bench with her legs on either side of Miche's head, hands resting on his shoulders and waiting for her next order. Armin didn't know what to think, and neither did anyone else.

Eren went back to the duffle and began pulling out an assortment of metal tools whose purpose Levi could only guess at, though his limited imagination was only too happy to fill in the blanks. Eren held up a pair of forceps, looked at them with a critical eye, then shook his head and set them aside, mumbling something. A gleaming pair of pliers was next, and these were met with slightly more enthusiasm – although not by much. Eren glanced into the duffle again, his brow contorting as nothing inside met whatever specialty he was looking for.

"I suppose these will have do," Eren sighed, looking at the pliers.

Levi felt something hot and watery curl at the back of his throat. Good God, were they really going to go through with this?! He shot a glance at Erwin, desperately wanting to know if he actually intended to sanction a round of amateur surgery right here in the middle of the mess, but the Commander did not look at him.

"Captain Ackerman?"

Levi whirled around. "Yeah?" he demanded, more harshly than he'd intended.

"I want you to be ready to restrain him," said Eren. "If he wakes up, Heaven Forbid, then his first reaction will be to struggle – and this could result in a great deal of harm, especially if I am inside his mouth at the time. Are you willing to assist me?"

Levi said nothing.

"But… but he won't be in pain, will he?" Petra asked in a small voice.

"No, of course not," Eren replied. "But there is nothing I can do for his fear."

He held Levi's gaze as he spoke, and Levi was inexplicably reminded of the Commander. Blue or green, the expression in their eyes was the same. Would he do the dirty thing, the impossible thing, to sacrifice his own comfort, his own _soul _if need be, in the pursuit of something greater? Levi defiantly lifted his chin, fire blazing in his own eyes. He didn't want to be here – but he was Levi Ackerman, Captain of Special Operations, and he would not abandon a fellow Scout.

"Tell me what you need, Jaeger."

Eren gestured at the bench.

Levi took the three steps needed to close the distance between him and the unconscious man. Miche was nowhere near as physically imposing as the Commander, but he was almost as tall, with the physique of a rangy mountain lion. He also outweighed Levi by nearly forty pounds. Levi determinedly sat across one of the man's legs and grabbed hold of the other, fingers hooked into the web of straps crisscrossing Miche's thigh.

"Fuck me and the horse I rode in on," he growled under his breath.

"Geez, Cap. What'd the poor horse do to you?" Eld joked nervously.

Eren picked up a large jar and uncorked it. The pungent effluvium of alcohol filled the air. He splashed it over his hands and wiped it up both arms, taking great care to flush beneath his fingernails. His skin was still glistening when he set the jar down and put his fingers into the burning wick of the nearby lamp. Flames burst to life on his skin, rolling over his hands in liquid clouds of violet and shimmering, lazuline blue. Hange let out a chortle of excitement. Someone in the room actually let out a little scream.

Erwin's head snapped around, reminded of the three dozen other men and women in the room. "All of you are dismissed," he said firmly. "There's nothing for you to see here."

There was an instant scramble to push back from the tables and exit the room. When the mess was empty, and the fine hairs on his arms had been singed away, Eren extinguished them with a quick flick of his wrists. A second splash of alcohol was added to the pliers and they were lit on fire as well. Levi felt his shirt starting to stick to his back. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and tasted fumes on the back of his throat.

Eren put his knee on the bench next to Miche's ribs.

"Mikasa, tilt his head back and open his jaw. If he starts to wake-"

"I will not let go," said Mikasa determinedly.

"Good girl," Eren praised softly, and the hairs on Armin's neck stood straight up. The voice was Eren's, but not the tone. Not the words. Those seemed familiar, like the whisper of a dream, or the faded shreds of a memory long since forgotten. Armin thought he smelled the sweet, dry pungency of desiccated herbs and that, too, was a memory. He thought of Shiganshina and the dappled remembrance of a life, a _world_, cruelly snuffed out.

Mikasa put strong fingers into the hinges of Miche's jaw and opened his mouth wide. Eren bent close, and carefully threaded the pliers between his front teeth. Levi felt sick. His stomach heaved, threatening to loose what he'd eaten onto the floor. He'd seen his fellow Scouts injured. Hell, he'd seen more than half of them die. But those things happened _outside_, in the forests and former farmlands of humanity. There was something truly, deeply unnerving about it happening here, surrounded by lukewarm coffee and half-eaten plates of food.

There was a soft crunch, wet and slick and grisly; the sound of snapping bone. Levi clamped his teeth against the urge to flinch. That sound had no right coming from anywhere other than the jaws of a Titan, let alone from a living man. Miche was utterly limp, but his body rocked and swayed as Jaeger worked. And the sound continued.

Erwin's gaze was hard, but his face was nearly the color of his shirt.

Petra covered her mouth with her hands. She looked away at the floor.

Another crunch, this one much louder. Eren quickly removed the pliers, examined what they held, then set them aside on the table. With that same hand, he picked up a scrap of linen he'd placed close to his elbow. Quick as a flash, he'd crammed most of it into Miche's mouth, thrust two fingers inside, and _held_.

"Turn his head," he instructed Mikasa gently. "Let it drain onto the floor."

She obediently rotated his face towards the edge of the bench and Jaeger inserted his pinky into the corner of Miche's mouth, pulling it down past his teeth. Dark, crimson blood oozed out to spatter on the floor, pooling in the grooves worn by hundreds of booted feet. Levi averted his eyes, wishing he'd never looked to begin with. He'd never been affected by the sight of blood in his life, but tonight felt different in a way he couldn't grasp. They _ate _at this table for fuck's sake!

Blood continued to patter on the floor in big, steady drips. Eren removed the linen, tossed it onto the table, and replaced it with a fresh wad. Levi's treacherous eyes stole another glance. Afterwards, he wished he could claw them out.

"Eren?" Erwin's stony voice rose to fill the silence.

Eren tilted his head towards one shoulder. "It's alright, Commander," he said quietly. "I was able to extract the tooth in one piece, and the roots appear to be intact. The infection does not appear to have progressed into his jaw."

As it to punctuate the statement, Levi felt a small twitch run through Miche's leg. He clamped down on it immediately, ready for a fight as the man started to groan and shift. A few seconds later, Miche dragged his eyes open, pupils dilating sharply as they encountered the burning lamp. It took him a minute to realize he was staring at five pairs of military issue boots, and another minute after that to realize what that meant. He tasted blood. There was something wadded into the back of his throat. He let out another muddy croak, muscles clenching with rising terror.

Eren swiftly cupped the side of his face in his palm.

"Easy, Mr. Zacharias," he soothed. "Look at me- no, no. Look at _me_. You're alright."

Miche rolled his head to look at him. He tried to say something.

"Don't talk. I've removed your tooth and put something in your mouth for the bleeding."

A confused, garbled whine rose in the older man's chest, dark eyes shining with alarm.

Sensing danger, Erwin took a quick step forward so that Miche was looking up at him. The Commander knew one thing for certain: with two Ackermans attached to his limbs, Miche could struggle until his back snapped and neither would sympathize or give an inch of ground, fully committed to the ruthless command they'd been given. Erwin desperately didn't want it to come to that.

"Lie still, Miche," he ordered. "You're in no danger."

It had the intended effect. Satisfied, at least on an instinctual level, that no harm would come to him – or _had_ come to him – while the Commander had been supervising, the tension slowly bled out of Miche's quivering spine. His eyes moved around the room, trying to piece together the last fragmented moments of his life. Eren wiped a trail of blood from Miche's scruffy chin.

"Mother Sina Almighty," Oluo growled, his small eyes fixed on Miche. "Why didn't you get all this taken care of sooner? We didn't need to see that!"

Petra elbowed him in the gut.

"What's done is done," said Eren. "Come on, Mr. Zacharias. Sit up. Move slowly now."

Mikasa released her iron grip on either side of Miche's face and transitioned her hands to his back, gently pushing him up to sit while Eren pulled him up from the front, moving inches at a time. Miche blearily lifted one hand to touch his cheek. He made a soft, gagging hum around the linen in his mouth, the sound rising into an urgent question as blood oozed over his bottom lip.

"Ah, it's soaked through. Here-" Eren whipped another square of linen from the pile and compressed it into a more manageable size. "Spit out the other one. Do it slowly! And open your mouth for me."

He held out his hand and Miche shakily bent to spit the bloody wad of linen into his palm. Eren didn't so much as flinch, folding it away as he gently inserted the fresh one into Miche's mouth. "Bite down softly," he instructed. "You only need to hold it in place. No, don't bend over. Keep your head up."

Miche did as he was instructed and Eren selected a small towel from his pile of supplies, using it to wipe the beads of sweat that'd condensed on the back of Miche's neck. The motion was brisk and professional, but gentle all the same. "You did well, Mr. Zacharias. Aside from the normal issues of healing, you shouldn't have any more problems."

Miche lifted his eyes to Eren's face, searching his gaze with his own.

Eren smiled warmly at him. "And I do apologize for rendering you unconscious in such a manner. Here," he laughed, reaching over to pick something small and white off the table. "You soldiers like souvenirs, don't you?"

He deposited a whole molar into Miche's palm, roots like vicious fangs. Petra made a small _eep_ of disgust, but Erwin's shoulders uncoiled in relief, slumping forward as though someone had lifted a Titan off his back. Miche held the tooth up and stared at it in grisly fascination.

"Fucking hell," Levi growled, standing up. "Do you really have to _moon_ over it?"

"I could put my finger in that hole!" said Eld queasily.

"And you were trying to live with it in your _mouth_!" Petra accused.

Miche looked as though he couldn't believe it himself. Eren chuckled and moved to sweep the bloody rags and instruments into a pile, hiding the syringe at the very bottom before lifting the whole mess back into the duffle. "These will have to be cleaned and sterilized," he said briskly.

"Not to worry! I'll take care of it myself!" Hange chirped, and it suddenly occurred to Levi where's he'd seen that duffle before. It was _Hange's_ duffle, the one she occasionally took into the field when there was the chance of a dissection – which meant the crazy bitch had known what it contained, and what Jaeger had planned to do it with, from the very beginning.

"You've got some serious issues, woman," Levi muttered.

Eren's lips quirked into a smile "Mr. Zacharias will also need a supply of painkillers and penicillin," he said, closing the duffle up with a snap. "Could you procure that as well?"

"Of course!" said Hange, jumping to her feet. "I'll raid my gooood supply."

"Only the _mild _painkillers," Eren corrected her sternly. "If there are no complications, and there shouldn't be, he'll only need something to take the edge off – if he needs anything at all. The penicillin is much more important."

"Be right baaa-ack!" said Hange in a singsong voice. She scooped the duffle to her chest, then turned to look back over one shoulder, her face scrunched in confusion. "Wait? Peni what?"

"Penicillin," Eren repeated. "It's-"

He cut himself off, memories flickering through his eyes.

"Never mind," he said softly and it seemed to Armin that was a tinge of pity in his gaze, a melancholy sadness too deep for tears. "Bring a suitable painkiller to Mr. Zacharias' quarters – tincture of willow bark with one eighth dose of laudanum, if you can manage. I'll have someone take him straight there."

"O-kay," said Hange slowly. She gave Eren a long look, then hurried off without another word.

Levi wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. He stomach still churned nauseously against his spine, but he didn't rub at it, refusing to show how badly the night's events had disturbed him. So much for tea and biscotti. He wished he'd never eaten anything at all.

"You just yanked a tooth out of the man's head!" Eld protested. "How do you figure he's going to get by on willow bark?"

"Have you ever had a tooth extracted, Lieutenant Gin? The pain is much less severe than one would think, especially given the mess," Eren observed, wiping his hands on a fresh towel. When they were clean, he put one on Miche shoulder and squeezed in a friendly, reassuring manner.

"That being said," he added, "you won't be doing anything strenuous for at least two weeks. No riding and _especially_ no ODM gear."

He shot a look at Erwin and the Commander felt the heat of it on his skin.

"Of course," said Erwin quickly. He cleared his throat with a cough. "He's now officially on light duty."

Miche nodded slowly, still looking a bit dazed. Eren hooked a hand beneath his armpit and carefully hoisted him to his feet. "Miss Ral, if you would kindly escort him to his bed? Make sure he doesn't bend over too severely, otherwise the clot may come loose. Take extra linen and set it where he can reach."

"Yes, sir," said Petra automatically. "Is he…?"

"Going to be alright?" Eren smiled at her. "He'll be fine, I promise. It should clot in fifteen minutes or so, and he'll feel no pain for at least several hours. Give him a full dose of whatever the Section Commander leaves you. That should take care of any remaining inflammation. As for you, Mr. Zacharias-"

He squeezed the older man's arm.

"-if you awaken and feel any unusual pain or fever, come find me. Understood?"

Miche nodded gratefully.

"Good. Then have a pleasant night's sleep."

His hand dropped, and Petra led Miche away with her hand on his back. Erwin blew out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, seized by a sudden and all-consuming sense of unreality, as though he were waking from a particularly clammy nightmare. He struggled for something to say, found nothing, and clapped a hand on Eren's shoulder instead, hoping the force of his grip would communicate what he couldn't convey with words.

Eld whistled admiringly. "I… well, I'm not going to say that was amazing, but- damn, kid. Where in hell did you learn to do something like that?"

Eren blinked slowly. "I… my father was a doctor," he murmured, gazing into the distance as though he could see right through it. "I know… all that he knew." He blinked again, eyes shifting in the firelight, first green, then deepest emerald, so hot they almost seemed to _burn_.

_How I have underestimated this boy,_ thought Erwin mutely.

"Tell..." Eren pursed his lips, struggling to latch onto something that was slipping beyond his grasp. "Tell the kitchen to make something with garlic. Something strong. And… and make sure Miche eats a lot of honey, too."

"Garlic?" Oluo echoed, confused. "Whatever for?"

"No penicillin. But the garlic will help… help him heal."

Eren blinked again, more forcefully this time. He cleared his throat, and after a moment he turned to face Erwin squarely. "You don't have to kiss my ass, Commander," he snorted. "Miche was in trouble and I helped. No need to thank me."

"Perhaps, but you have my gratitude regardless," said Erwin.

Armin exhaled softly. The smaller boy felt as though been holding his breath all evening. He shot Mikasa a worried look and noticed her face glowing with pride. Armin bit down on the urge to roll his eyes. Had she even noticed something was off here? She must have noticed. Eren's change in tone was subtle, but it _was_ there. He'd called her "hon", for crying out loud. Now Armin freely admitted he hadn't been a part of Eren's home life, but still, the idea that Grisha had trained him to such an extent… at such a young age…

Eren looked around, his eyes going back to the table. "Tch. Well, so much for finishing my soup."

"Fuck your soup," said Levi crossly. "Look what you did to the floor."

"Why don't you grab that diaper you wear around your neck and mop it up?"

"Why don't _you_ mop it with your goddamn scruffy hair?"


End file.
